


But I will be good to you

by CrystallizedInsomniac



Category: Tokyo Ghoul, Tokyo Ghoul:re
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe - Human, M/M, Mutsurie Week 2016, Other, Running Away, Sexual Content, Underage Drinking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-01
Updated: 2016-05-01
Packaged: 2018-06-03 20:22:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 19,474
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6624841
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CrystallizedInsomniac/pseuds/CrystallizedInsomniac
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Urie remembers their encounter this morning and the <i>ran away from home</i> and simply turns a blind eye on what's most likely a <i>stolen</i> credit card.</p>
            </blockquote>





	But I will be good to you

**Author's Note:**

> This is my submission for Day #1 of Mutsurie Week. The theme is **AUs**.  
>  Please check the note at the end, as it contains a more detailed explanation of what this fanfic contains. Spoilers, somewhat. Other than that, I hope you guys enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it.

His mind is awake before his body is. 

Whereas his step-mother awes in his intuition – the one she has gotten to calling ‘God’s gift’ in vain attempts to fit in on the picture. A curvy jigsaw puzzle trying to fit in with straight lines and edges of a rubix cube, too different for their family. Her desperation and eagerness is clear a giveaway – and claims that it’s a good thing; his father says that it’s just common reason. 

Urie likes to believe – like he blindly does when he grips the rosary that hangs on his neck heavy and present, asks for forgiveness and believes that Mary intercedes, cleanses his sins – that his ‘gift’ is no more than an alert, warning, of _stupidity_ affecting his life.

At exactly 3:39AM, his phone rings. Doesn’t even look at the caller ID before he’s sitting up in his bed, staring at dark walls and pressing the device to his ear. While he rubs his eyes and listens to heavy breathing on the other line, he tries with little to no success to make his voice sound friendly.

“What.” It comes out clipped and annoyed, like he just woke up. He _has_ just woken up.

_“…Oh … um. Urie?”_

The voice is soft like silk, Urie notes, and seems to be delivered in what he can only tell is a hushed voice. Clearly female.

Urie doesn’t give a reply, not when he’s silently wondering who it is that’s calling him at almost four in the morning. He thinks, if the voice was slurred, it could have been a drunkard calling random numbers. Except that it’s not slurred, just a hint of fear slipping in – because he knows what fear sounds like. Remembers that time his neighbor’s daughter gained her sight again – and something like desperation.

In the end, he remains silent, only his breathing heard through the other line.

 _“I’m sorry,”_ the female says, cuts off, then, _“it’s probably the wrong number.”_

She’s definitely crying.

“Not the wrong number.” He says voice low. Makes himself comfortable on the bed again. Lays his head on the pillow and faces the darkness once more. On the line, he can hear what sounds like relief in the girl’s _´thank god´._ “Who’s speaking?”

There’s a small silence, but only coming from the girl. There are different sounds all around her, coming out muffled through his phone. Footsteps, the sound of a few cars. He can hear some music dimmed out.

He imagines the girl is walking through the city, passes by a few shady clubs. Is probably wearing something big, big enough to hide her cellphone. She’s most likely wearing earphones so that way she’s not outright showing that she has a smartphone; it’d be easy pray for delinquents.

_“I can’t say, I’m sorry.”_

“Okay.” He sighs, closes his eyes, his eyelids feel heavy and the bed is warm and comfortable. It takes him a long minute to reply, and that’s only because the girl says his name again with that same tone of fear. “Give me a reason as to why I shouldn’t hang up this instant.”

 _“No! no, okay,um. Wait. I just— I need_ – _”_

“Reason. You need to give me a reason.”

There’s a sob coming from the line, _“I need you trust me. Urie, I need help. I don’t know who else to call and I_ – _”_

She never finishes her sentence, starts full out crying. If Urie’s hoping to fall asleep, it’s not going to be any time soon and he lets it be known by hissing out a swear and sitting fully up. As if this action would calm her down. Tells himself it’s not because he feels guilt settling into his stomach, constricting.

“Stop crying— _Jesus_ , just. What… what do you need help with?”

He runs a hand up his face and into his hair, tugs at it.

The unknown caller then proceeds to tell him why exactly she’s in need of help. Urie almost feels sorry for her; probably called the first number she could and is trying to get help from anyone. That is until she tells him to _please_ meet her at a certain place.

This is where people become wary and redirect the other to the police, they could help. Except that there’s something telling him to just do it, and on the other side, his intuition is going crazy.

In the end, he decides to just fuck it. He’s not going to sleep any time soon and it’s not the first time he’s ignored his intuition.

**+**

There are days where Urie is both grateful and annoyed that the small complex building is situated on one of the most populated and loud parts of the city. He can never imagine his folks buying a house in the middle of a really populated area. While he’s not in fact bothered by the constant activity around the neighborhood, it has become irksome at times when he compares it to his relatively quiet childhood.

It’s a shift from an eerie silence only interrupted by his father’s mumbles, bible passages tuning in and out as Urie drifts through each room, to the loud sounds of music and different people shouting with the smell of booze and cigarettes.

It almost feels like slipping into a second skin. One that is more welcoming than the one he was used to wearing back when he was still living with his parents. He can almost hear his father’s voice drip with disappointment, itches at the back of his skull. The devil always paints temptation as something good, _heady._

And though sometimes he comes home at early hours of the morning as if he had never sneaked out – though, he likes to disagree that it’s not sneaking out if his parents see him walk out the door with no word in absolute as to where he’s heading – he never walked out the door with intentions of doing something wrong.

Except, _maybe_ , this time.

+

When he opens the door, his first reaction is not to check behind him, first he cringes, and _then_ he looks behind himself. His heart beats to the same tempo as that of a bass out on the street, the loud music a big contrast to the otherwise silent house. He had almost expected to find his father to be behind him, ask where he’s headed off.

There’s nothing though. There hasn’t been anything ever since he moved out a couple of months back. Almost as if the silence and stillness isn’t being disrupted by the chilly air of the early morning and the sound of muted, yet still loud, music. The handle burns in his hand and he drops it, picks up a coat besides the door and walks out. The door closes with a soft click.

He takes the stair this time, not bothering with the elevator. He’s careful to not make much noise with his steps, lest he wake up one of his nosy neighbors.

He’s out of the building quickly.

Urie doesn’t waste time at all. He’s taken long strides towards his motorcycle and is already turning it on before he realizes it. Two minutes later, he’s down the road with the cold air biting into his hands, no gloves put on. He wears his helmet this instance not with the thought of safety at front in his mind, but with the thought of it being some sort of safety blanket he can hold on to.

If the girl who called knows his phone number and name, what’s not to mean that she doesn’t know how he looks like either? He’d rather be cautious, in case he sees something weird when he arrives at his destination, then he can simply drive by, not stop. The helmet provides him that much anonymity, and it’s certainly not weird to see people drive by at this hour of the morning.

By the time he arrives at the park it’s already beginning to get clearer, lighter. The sun slowly rising behind buildings into the dull and almost-grey morning sky, partially hidden behind thick-looking grey clouds. What little amount of light manages to filter through the clouds is not enough to actually illuminate to overcompensate for the gloomy morning.

Even as Urie turns the engine off and pockets his keys into the coat he’s wearing, lowers his head slightly and tries to keep warm, he knows that there wouldn’t be any sort of actual sunshine through out the day, or week. Not now that winter is coming along. It’s going to get colder; therefore it’s going to be darker.

Just before he steps foot inside the park, he stops just outside the huge steel gates, just under a light pole. He leans his body against it, lets out a huff of breath and realizes that he can see his breath come out in a cloud of smoke. He digs inside the coat and into his jeans before pulling out his cellphone, unlocking it and checking the hour.

It’s somewhere past 6:10AM.

He licks his lips and places the phone inside his pocket once more. He doesn’t feel like becoming a victim of assault this early in the morning.

Then, he turns and walks inside the park.

Despite his earlier assumptions, the park isn’t as dead as he thought it out to be. The park in itself was somewhat quiet; an unusual contrast to how it was when daylight shone and it’s was brimming with life. The swings near the entrance moved to their own accord, rusty sounds and creeks from metal on metal as the chilly night of the air pushed them with gentle force. It reminded him of the same level of noise as a TV that’s been lowered down by the TV remote.

But as he walks in further and further, in the silence, he can manage to hear the sound of squirrels running around and that of birds – flutter of wings, the sound of their singing, even the occasional twig snapping under them – hidden in the trees. The further he walks; he hears other noises and then sees the things causing them.

In his way, he manages to become as inconspicuous as he can. Not that his effort makes any difference whatsoever. The few amount of joggers he sees doesn’t even bat him an eyelash, they just keep jogging in the opposite direction. Still though, if he has to make himself scarce, then he does so, not a hard feat to do when he’s practiced it enough times in his life.

At one point, he can no longer hear the sound of the city, all washed out by the whispers of the leaves, the sound of birds. He looks around the spot and feels a feeling of panic wash over his being.

The spot is a secluded off area with a trail made out of rocks that leads to a gazebo further away, a lot of stone benches depraved of actual human activity, lots of trees too. In this spot, no matter how much Urie tries to cover his hands inside the coat’s pockets, it still manages to become a tad colder.

He’s beginning to lose his patience by the time he realizes that there isn’t anyone around. He can feel the slight tilt of his lips downwards, clearly annoyed. He’s about to turn around and head back to get his motorcycle and head home when he hears the sound of a twig snapping. He freezes on his spot, and subtlety tilts his head upwards, trying to see if he can catch anything out of the corner of his eye. He can’t give the person any idea that he already knows they’re there.

A whole minute passes by – he can tell, counts the seconds on his head – and there’s no movement, no crazy killer out to slit his throat from behind a tree.

“Urie.” It’s a simple word, comes from his left. Urie doesn’t move from his spot but does twist his body so it faces that direction.

Sure enough it’s the same voice from before, but this time it doesn’t sound as scared as that morning. Instead it sounds questioning and just a tad relieved, there’s something else he can’t quite put a finger on, but it doesn’t matter.

The owner of said voice, then steps out from behind a tree, probably the place where she was hiding at and Urie thinks he does a good job of hiding his emotions, except for that of his eyes widening slightly.

The female – he thinks is maybe a year younger or older than him – is nothing but sleek curves and long legs, each of these assets accentuated by the bronze silk-looking fabric that clings to her skin like a glove. There’s a lot of skin, _a lot_. He realizes belatedly. Milky brown, a warm color to the skin tone even.

Her face isn’t painted with as much makeup as he thought it’d have. Just some blush and eyeliner done. She wears the remains of a lipstick that was clearly smudged – later; he’ll look at her hand and realize that she wiped it off – sometime before. Her face is framed by green hair that cascades down her shoulders and stops somewhere around her upper-back with soft-looking ringlets.

The dress while obviously meant to garner attention of anyone looking at her is a mix from being decent and indecent at the same time. When the girl steps out from behind the tree fully and takes steps towards him – high-heels, black painted toenails – he notices that there’s a slit that goes from the bottom of the dress, which happens to reach somewhere lower than her knees, to the almost top of the waist, revealing some leg without showing any underwear. Urie’s eyes instantly lock there, and then he rethinks about the girl’s age.

Urie still doesn’t say anything, too shocked to utter any single word. He’s somewhat waiting on people coming out of the trees, from where they’re hiding to tell him he’s been pranked – pranked by what? He still doesn’t know – and is going to appear on national TV. Except, that it never happens. All he gets is an armful of teenage girl in really, _really_ expensive looking clothing, hugging him.

If the girl isn’t bothered by the fact that Urie didn’t hug her back, she doesn’t let it show when she steps back. Her eyes are crystal-like and watered, relief on her green eyes reflecting clearly.

“I thought you wouldn’t come.” She says, and then lets out a small laugh, it almost sounds like she’s kicking herself for it. “But you’re here.”

“You’re… you’re really here.” She says again, whispers, and then lets out a smile that tugs at Urie’s heart for some reason.

Then, he looks at her clearly and realizes that she’s shaking. He doesn’t let the thought of it being because she’s – for some reason – happy to see him, but because she’s basically _naked_ and isn’t wearing a coat or jacket or anything and she’s been wearing this since four in the morning, hell, probably even longer, and it’s getting really cold and her eyes are puffy and red up-close. This leaves him thinking that she was probably crying just earlier and _fuck–_

He’s a huge asshole.

He doesn’t really think about his actions. It’s an automatic move from his part. He takes off his coat and sets it on the girl’s shoulder. She’s the same height as he is – but he thinks that the heels have a lot to do with that, although they’re not really high heels –, so the coat doesn’t prove to do much other than cover the upper part of her body completely. Her legs are still uncovered to the chilly air.

The second the coat is on her shoulders, she grips it and hugs it tighter to her frame. Urie can see the moment she relaxes somewhat, her body slumps forward and she lets out an almost content sigh. She’s still shaking, and this time, a couple of tears roll down her cheeks.

“Fuck.” He hisses out, and then shifts on his spot. Not really sure what to do with a crying person. He’s not good at consoling others, especially when he doesn’t know their reason for the waterworks. Still, he can’t help but try and offer some sort of help.

“Do you–“ He clears his throat, “Do you need any–“

He’s internally grateful when she shakes her head and raises her finger up.

“No. It’s okay.” She says, wipes her face with a smile on her face and looks at him straight in the eyes. “I just thought you wouldn’t come, I got scared.”

Urie licks his lips. Averts his eyes.

The action doesn’t go unnoticed by her. The smile on her face doesn’t leave her face but it does turn smaller.

“I mean, I figured you wouldn’t come. Especially not knowing who I am, I can explain though. Probably should have started with that earlier.” It’s what she says, although the urgency with which she called him in, left no argument that she obviously wouldn’t have explained right away.

“Yeah, I guess.” He shrugs, ignores the cold biting into his skin.

“Then again,” She says and runs a hand through her hair, effectively managing to ruin the ringlets. It’s almost like she doesn’t care about her hair. Urie manages to miss the annoyed, fleeting flash of emotion that goes through her eyes at the length.

“I doubt my long-distance boyfriend would have believed me if I told him that I ran away from home.”

Urie literally feels the blood drain from his face.

Suddenly, those eyes and the face don’t seem like a stranger’s, but familiar.

_Shit._

+

What Urie likes about diners is the amount of people that frequent them. It’s always the noisiest, or loudest, at the early hours of the morning despite what many people often like to believe. Especially when the costumers are mostly tourists of people stopping by to eat something before embarking once more on some road-trip.

He knows from personal experience, therefore, he doesn’t hesitate to park the motorcycle just outside a diner that’s not too far from his home but not close enough that someone from the neighborhood might recognize him.

Wouldn’t be the first time someone has seen him roaming around, he muses and then tenses slightly when he goes to move but feels arms wrapped around him. Then, he licks his lip. Probably a first that he’s seen with someone else though, clinging to him.

Mutsuki doesn’t move from behind him, but the arms do loosen themselves up a bit, they don’t pull back right away. Even without looking, Urie’s sure that he’s looking around – can tell by the shifting, the fact that Mutsuki’s flushed against him, only his coat thick enough to not be able to not let Urie feel the other’s breathing through no other means but the warmth air that tickles the back of his neck – and then, Mutsuki leans forward and plants his head on Urie’s back.

“It’s too crowded.” He says, voice muffled.

As if stating a point, another car slows down near the entrance and parks somewhere close to them. Urie takes this opportunity to take off his helmet and hold it against his hip. He watches as a family of five steps out of the car. There’s a fleeting look from the couple their way – and Urie glares – before they move inside the diner.

The moment the door opens, there’s the sound of a crowd speaking not loudly, but with the amount of people inside the noise just blends in together. The moment the glass-doors close, it’s back to listening to the sound of cars and honks.

“Then it’s the perfect place.” He sighs.

It means that no one will bat an eyelash at a couple of teens walking inside. If they both look like they haven’t slept, then well, the people inside have probably seen so much more. The least Urie’s expecting to receive is more than a few questioning glances.

It takes Mutsuki a good amount of time to actually get off of the motorcycle, and when he does, he just lingers around Urie. Urie watches him out of the corner of his eye, and decides that the action isn’t done because he wants to be besides him, but because it would mean attracting attention to himself.

He has a feeling that this is something Mutsuki’s gone through before. Doesn’t dwell much on it neither way, nor does he voice his opinion. At this point, he still feels like a jerk and doesn’t really feel like upsetting the teenager any longer.

When Urie steps up to Mutsuki, he can see that he’s taken to biting his lip, green eyes fleeting from the diner to Urie. He doesn’t speak, which honestly, Urie’s okay with right now, before shooting a question through his gaze at Urie.

Urie responds by shoving his cold hands inside the pockets of his jeans and walking towards the diner. Mutsuki follows shortly after.

When he goes to open the door, he steps aside and holds it open for Mutsuki.

It an automatic movement, one that his mother has often times tried to implement in his childhood. He remembers that she used to say that it’d make any female grateful for the gesture. And in all of his eighteen years of life, only today has he actually bothered with doing so and instead of a shy smile he gets a fleeting look of annoyance and the slight tilt of lips downward.

Urie realizes belatedly why that is – as he follows Mutsuki inside the diner, trying to not walk too close to him but not keeping that much distance – and kicks himself for it. He’s not going to bother blaming it on the dress or the long hair either, because it’s _really_ his own fault.

When Mutsuki sits down on one table that’s set somewhere at the far back but not entirely out of the way of the windows, Urie shoves – the need – the itching of his fingers to pull out the chair Mutsuki’s going to sit down for him, and instead masks the action with the raise of an eyebrow.

“I thought you didn’t want to be spotted.” He says and pulls out his chair, sits directly in front of Mutsuki, sets his helmet on his lap. His legs touch his, and if Mutsuki’s uncomfortable with it, he doesn’t seem to show it. In fact, he looks everywhere but _at_ Urie.

“I don’t.” is Mutsuki’s reply after a few good minutes.

By this point, Urie offers nothing more than a single low noise to indicate that he’s listened. Whether Mutsuki heard it or not, he simply can’t will himself to pay much attention to now.

The diner is crowded, probably more so than what it looked like from the outside. The smell of food – greasy food, fast – clinging to every surface, mixed with the fleeting aroma of coffee or hot chocolate in the air. The amount of noise, both coming from the kitchen and the costumers alike, making a decent background noise, wouldn’t allow anyone else to intrude in other people’s conversations, which suited Urie just fine.

The amount of noise though was enough of a distraction that neither Mutsuki nor Urie had felt the silence between the two of them had grown awkward. It was tense, at least, but it wasn’t enough that Urie was going to ignore the male sitting in front of him. In fact, he was taking every second to acquaintance himself with the face.

Mutsuki’s features remained the same as earlier today. There was still a softness to his face that was highly accentuated by the blush on his cheeks, the eyeshadow on his lids, not heavy enough to be easily spotted unless one were closely paying attention to. His eyes wandered down to Mutsuki’s lips, and remained there.

He was biting his finger. He shifted on his seat, a sudden urge to know if the action is caused by certain emotions.

Nonetheless, even behind the makeup and the curls, he can remember with vagueness the face he was only able to see for a couple of minutes once.

Their meeting was actually caused by his friend Saiko, who had left her laptop over at his house. Apparently she had made some internet friends that she wanted to show Urie about, especially one that she was pretty sure he’d get along with just fine. She never got around to introducing them to him because that same night, she had been called by his brother to tell her that their mother had almost managed to choke on her own vomit. Exasperated, she had left in a hurry.

Mutsuki – who was then, not Mutsuki but _Mucchan_. Much later would he be given a name – was one of Saiko’s friends, a new addition to their internet group, had initiated a video call. In a moment of stupidity, Urie had accepted the call and was surprised to find that the person was in fact attractive. Even in the dark, with only the screen’s light illuminating their face.

When Mucchan discovered that Urie was not a blue-haired female, instantly made to hang up on the call. Urie, amused, sent them a message and things sort of started from there.

( Later, he would discover that Mutsuki was extremely shy and never participated in group chats if they were with visuals, and that it was the first time Mutsuki gathered the courage to show his face. Urie had an angry Saiko cursing him for ruining her only chance to meet her friend, and then that anger turned to teasing tones asking him if they were going to meet up. Dating and all. )

It took him a long time to realize that he didn’t mind ‘dating’ Mutsuki, despite not knowing a lot about him, which was fine with him, since he wasn’t comfortable when things got too personal. So this sort of relationship suited him just fine.

Their conversations were often, especially in the early hours of the morning. From what little he could gather, Mutsuki – despite claiming to be really awkward socially – was always complaining about having to attend parties, which meant that he went out a lot.

Along the texting, they sometimes sent each other pictures, Urie more than Mutsuki – Mutsuki never took pictures where his face showed, mostly things that he claimed reminded him of his boyfriend – , which was fine by him actually, since Mutsuki was the more talkative one out of the two. One thing they hadn’t done was actually call each other, but that thought would occur to him later, when Mutsuki’d stopped responding to his messages and vanish without a single clue as to where he went.

“Look.” Mutsuki’s voice startles him out of his thoughts. He eyes him and notices that Mutsuki’s moved his arm to the table, supporting the side of his head on his arm. Green hair falling in lose waves, his face is set somewhere else though. “Let’s get one thing straight.”

Then, he sits properly and levels Urie with an intense look. Urie matches it with little interest, a simple nod of his head to indicate that he can continue.

“All I’m asking of you right now is to not assume that I’m a girl. You met me as a guy, therefore I’m male.” Mutsuki blinks, then leans forward on the table just slightly and Urie can see the moment his eye flash with something akin to sadness. “Even if I’m wearing a dress. I’m _not_ a girl, _never_ have been. I know I’m asking much of you… with all of – _this._ ” Mutsuki cringes, “But you’re the only person who I have right now, and I really _, really_ need your word on this.”

And while his request sounded like something to be taken serious – which he will do – it also sounded like something that Mutsuki’s grown tired of having to explain a lot. He sounds tired. _Looks_ tired. His posture seems somewhat off, and even with the coat he has on, Urie can definitely tell that his shoulders are slumped downward, too tired already. The signs of exhaustion clear on his face.

And even with all of this, his eyes remain locked on Urie’s with such intensity, _daring_ him to say otherwise. Urie nods, throat a little dry. If he had any doubts on Mutsuki realizing that this morning, Urie had been misgendering him completely, then apparently he does know. Simply doesn’t voice it.

“Okay.” He says. It’s honestly all he has to say. If Mutsuki says he’s a guy, then, yeah sure. He’s in no position to tell him otherwise, and anyways, he did start liking him as a guy before. Dress or no dress.

Mutsuki eyes him for a couple of seconds, probably trying to spot any lie whatsoever from him, and when he finds none, gives Urie a little smile. Then scoots back a bit, his legs brush against Urie’s own and he can hear the soft sound of the heels tapping the floor.

“I can’t begin to know how I’ll repay you for this.” Mutsuki sighs.

Urie opens his mouth to say something, but then a waitress comes by and when she sets down two menus in front of them, he realizes that he had nothing to say.

Instead, he let’s out something that might have been a “ _took you long enough,”_ at the waitress and skims over the menu. If the waitress heard what he had said, she doesn’t voice her opinion.

He steals a look over the menu.

“Sir?”

“Black coffee only.” He hands the menu over, eyes flicker towards Mutsuki who frowns but doesn’t say anything.

The waitress – who seems rather young actually, now that he looks at her clearly. Light blue hair covering one side of her face . Name tag reads “ _Touka”_ – pulls out a small writing pad and writes down the order.

Urie fights down the impulse to make a comment on it, since he’s pretty sure that it’s quite easy to remember such a simple order – and because he didn’t bring his wallet with him and only has a couple of twenty dollars and sure the coffee isn’t going to be expensive, but one never knows –. But then the woman speaks, and he realizes that Mutsuki hasn’t ordered.

“And you ma’a-“

“I’ll… I’ll have the blueberry pancakes.” Mutsuki bites his bottom lip, and then after some hesitation adds, “actually, make that two orders of blueberry pancakes. Black coffee with milk. That’d be all for now, thank you.”

The waitress frowns, and then looks at Urie and then back at Mutsuki. Her eyes flash with some sort of emotion and there’s a smile on her face now. “ _Oh._ ”

“So that’ll be all?”

“Yes.” Urie replies.

The waitress then leaves the table and Urie doesn’t bother to follow after her movements. Instead he looks at Mutsuki.

“What?” He shrugs, “You haven’t had breakfast have you?”

Urie clicks his tongue. “Breakfast isn’t top priority when you receive a call at four in the morning from someone crying.”

Mutsuki flinches and Urie pretends to ignore it.

“Touche.” Green eyes flicker off to the side, guiltily, before settling once more on the table. A beat or two pass and then Mutsuki licks his lips. “Still, you’re not going to have coffee as breakfast.”

Urie scoffs. “Says who?”

“Says me.” Mutsuki smiles.

“Have you considered that maybe I don’t like pancakes.”

Mutsuki visibly pales. “I… um.” Then he lowers his head, rubs at the back of his neck. “I guess not.”

Urie rolls his eyes, but lets a small smile show on his face. His eyes trail off to the side and settle on a couple off to the side. He can’t hear what they’re talking about, but it’s most likely a breakup, if he goes by the crestfallen look the girl sports on her face while the guy accompanying her displays none of the emotions she does. That’s just him guessing.

Then, he knows what exactly to say.

“Tell me why you stopped texting me.”

The question sobers Mutsuki up really quickly, if the way he stiffens ever so slightly is anything to go by.

“No.”

Urie scowls, “Why not?”

“I…” Mutsuki closes his eyes and his lips move. Urie realizes that he’s mouthing something but can’t tell what it is. “I’d rather have this conversation somewhere else. After breakfast.”

When he sees that Urie’s scowl hasn’t left, he lets out a soft; _“Please.”_

The black-haired male grunts, and while he shows that he’s clearly not okay with dropping that certain conversation right now – and he lets it be known, levels Mutsuki with a look that says _I’m going to be bringing this up later_ , to which he receives in reply _I know, but later. Not now_ – he does indeed change the subject.

“What do you want to talk about?”

“I don’t know?” Mutsuki shrugs, “I mean, I used to fantasize a lot about how we’d meet. Never thought that it’d be this way.”

Mutsuki’s face takes a nice shade that Urie files away for later in his memory.

“Alright, let’s talk about you.” He offers.

“Why?”

“Because in all of the time we’ve known each other, I know very little about you, Mutsuki.” The _and it’s pretty embarrassing that I couldn’t recognize my partner when I saw them for the first time_ goes without saying.

Mutsuki tucks a lock of green hair behind his ear – revealing a nice looking earring that was definitely not there before – and then chuckles. It’s pretty deprecating.

“That depends on which Mutsuki you’re curious about.”

It’s probably fate or something, but Urie never gets to ask him to specify because a moment later, Touka comes back with their orders and it seems like a silent agreement to not ask. They eat their breakfast in peaceful quiet between the two and when they’re ready to leave Mutsuki pulls out a credit card out of seemingly no where – later, he’ll ask and Mutsuki will tell him that he was wearing shorts underneath the dress – and pays.

Urie remembers their encounter this morning and the _ran away from home_ and simply turns a blind eye on what’s most likely a _stolen_ credit card.

When they’re ready to leave the diner, Urie gives Mutsuki his helmet and makes a mental note to get another one soon.

+

“Hey Urie?”

“Hmm.”

“Just wondering, um, did you tell your parents you’ll be bringing someone over?”

Urie pockets his keys and turns to look at Mutsuki. He’s holding onto his helmet just by the hip and is looking at the building. His tone of voice doesn’t give anything away, so Urie doesn’t say anything for a long time. Mutsuki doesn’t prod him for answers either.

Then, he walks up towards him and takes the helmet from his hands. “Don’t live with them.”

“Oh.”

Urie walks up the steps and takes out another set of keys from his pants, struggling for a few seconds to keep his hold on them because it’s too cold and his fingers are becoming numb. He mutters a few curses underneath his breath but otherwise doesn’t do much, it was either him or Mutsuki and with what little the other was wearing, he’d rather freeze for a couple of hours. He’s not _that_ much of an asshole.

“C’mon.” He nods inside once he opens the door, not bothering to look if Mutsuki’s trailing behind him, and entering. He’s instantly hit with the lobby’s warm air and runs a hand through his hair. When he hears Mutsuki’s footsteps stop slowly behind him, he begins walking towards the elevator.

Pressing the button, he turns around to lean on the wall and looks at Mutsuki. The green-haired male is looking around with obvious interest, green eyes taking every single detail about the lobby. Intrigued, Urie takes a look around himself.

There’s nothing much to the lobby though. The walls are decorated with beige-colored paper that’s been peeling off, clear signs of how old it really is. Some stains that he has never bothered too much with inspecting to know what exactly they are. There’s a mirror on one side of the wall, and on the other wall, the mailboxes.

He sniffs, and then looks at Mutsuki again.

The elevator opens.

It’s a small elevator, so in the end they both end up pressed side to side inside of it. He watches Mutsuki’s reaction out of the corner of his eye, wanting to know if the male seems uncomfortable in the setting, but Mutsuki’s simply staring at the floor, no sound coming from him.

And then Urie averts his gaze, because he honestly doesn’t know why he cares. Of course, there’s no way he’s going to deny being curious as to what the hell he’s getting into. And if it were any other person he might not be bringing them into his small apartment.

But it’s Mutsuki – and while he’s still mad over the fact that he literally disappeared for a few months with no messages as to his wellbeing, well, that feeling is sort of not important right now. Not with all of the feelings he’s slowly categorizing towards this situation. In all honesty, Urie still can’t quite believe this is his life now – and his feelings might be clouding his reasoning just the tiniest bit.

He’s snapped out of his thoughts when the elevator opens. Mutsuki’s the first one to step out, and then aside. His green eyes lock with his own dark ones. Urie steps out into the hallway and then proceeds to walk to his door.

“It’s a mess.” He starts.

“Huh?” Mutsuki looks at him then.

“The apartment. It’s a mess.” He says again. Isn’t this what people do when they have others over? He’s not quite sure. Hasn’t invited anyone over ever since he moved in.

Mutsuki doesn’t give him a reply, which for some reason does not bother him in the slightest. He opens the door with the key and pushes it open, stepping inside the apartment and closing the door when Mutsuki enters after him.

Urie locks the door with a soft click, and then lies on the door. The day’s events suddenly catching up on him. Mutsuki hasn’t said anything, but his eyes are quickly fleeting around the room, observing.

Urie’s fingers twitch. Not really sure how he feels about having someone over, simply looking around.

“Where can I put this?” Mutsuki turns around then, looking down at the coat he’s wearing. Urie decides to ignore the awkwardness that’s beginning to cloud the air and instead gets off of the wall and extends his hand out.

“Here.”

Mutsuki blinks, and without saying anything else, begins to take off the coat. There’s a small moment when he’s sliding it down, shoulders peeking out, when he stops completely. Urie raises an eyebrow.

“What?”

Mutsuki doesn’t answer him, instead swallows.

“Nothing.” He says, lets out a deep breath. “Nothing… _just_ – Nothing.” He runs a manicured hand through his hair, rubs his face.

Then he takes off the coat and hands it to Urie.

Right now, he can’t help but notice that there’s something different about Mutsuki’s stance. He’s going to blame it on the fact that he’s on an unfamiliar place. But he seems tense, almost as if he wanted to bolt out of the room. His green eyes are lowered down, one arm rubbing the other.

“Where’s the bathroom?”

The silence is tense, awkward. Urie clears his throat and steps past Mutsuki. “The bathroom is over there.” He points towards one of the few doors off to the side, past the couch, as he heads to the couch. There’s a hanger on the door for the coat, but he’s honestly too lazy to go there again. Instead, he sits down on the couch, sets the coat besides him.

He watches as Mutsuki looks at the door, then at Urie, before nodding.

Urie finds himself watching Mutsuki’s retreating back. The sound of heels clicking against the tiled floor the only sound in the apartment. His eyes glue themselves to the back of Mutsuki’s dress and notices that the zipper is down a bit. Then he takes notice of a slightly darker spot on Mutsuki’s bronze skin and blinks. Rubs his eyes.

He doesn’t see what it is though, because Mutsuki’s already retreated to the bathroom. The door closes with a soft click, and then another sound. He locked it.

Fair enough.

Urie rubs at his eyes with the back of his hand. There’s so many questions that he needs answered right now, and probably won’t have them until Mutsuki’s out of the bathroom. Those can wait he supposes.

He leans back into the couch completely. Exhaustion seeping from his body almost instantly. His eyes are shut before he realizes it. Not long after, he’s asleep.

When he wakes up, it's to find that it's already late in the afternoon. 

It takes a him a minute to figure out what exactly rose him from his sleep, his body silently protesting at his movements, sitting up on the couch and rubbing his eyes with the palm of his hand. Urie represses a yawn, head turning to the side when he hears the faint sound of curtains being pushed aside - whereas in the hotter season, light would come and illuminate the living room, all he gets is nothing more but a bit of light that is not orange in hue - and a person standing there.

Urie stares at the person's back, trying to recall just who it was. His eyes followed the curve of hips up to green hair, wavy, and rubbed his face once more. Yeah, he remembers now.

Urie almost opens his mouth to speak, but then thinks better against it and remains shut. From here, he can see the bruise on Mutsuki's back. He frowns.

"How long?" he asks.

Mutsuki literally jumps on the spot, he turns around. "W-what?"

"How long was I out?"

"Oh. Um, an hour or two."

Urie nods, moving forward on the couch so he's sitting on the edge. "So."

Mutsuki nods, clearly understanding. He moves so he's sitting in front of Urie. 

He tells him from the beginning.

+

When Urie leaves the apartment the next day, Mutsuki's still sleeping. He leaves him a note explaining where _everything_ is and where _he_ is.  He doesn't even acknowledge the possibility that Mutsuki might steal from him, because he has nothing of personal importance in that apartment. Save for maybe his laptop.  

The day is uneventful, which means that there aren’t a lot of people coming in and out of the café. It’s a slow day with even slower hours. It’s unusual for the café to be so unlively on a Sunday morning, and even stranger that by the time noon comes rolling around, there are a little amount of people to serve.

Any other day, he would have thanked God over an easy day of work, especially on Sundays when he usually took a full day shift ending at 6 pm. He can only stand people for so long and working a whole day doesn’t help in the slightest – oh, but it does. Because by Monday he’s made enough money and that’s good – with his mood.

Urie works the register half of the time, much to his displeasure. Although, whenever he’s on it, Yonebayashi is a constant presence behind him. In all honesty, she’s what’s been keeping him in line the last few weeks, what’s with Shirazu having to go away from the café because of family reasons, mostly because interacting with others isn’t something he likes to do and having to keep up a friendly attitude with people tends to get exhausting.

That and, he has a guest in his apartment. A guest who he hopes doesn’t have an angry family looking for him, and therefore, getting Urie in trouble.

As an introvert, he sometimes hates himself for choosing such an interactive job. But then he remembers that this is the only job which accepts him and his mouth, so he sucks it up.

Yonebayashi brings him comfort and is there to remind him that he can’t cross that line of his that he tends to simply overlook, and that people don’t deserve to be at the end of his sharp tongue. It´s a relief in it´s own way, not that he’ll ever tell Yonebayashi.

Just like he might not also tell her that his boyfriend is in town and very much running away. Surely, he knows, that Yonebayashi would be nothing but excited over meeting her internet friend. But then, Mutsuki knows that she works with him, and because of the lack of mention of their mutual acquaintances, Urie doesn’t tell Yonebayashi anything when she asks him what he was up to yesterday.

( “You were late, did you sleep in?” She cleans the table, doesn’t look at him.

Urie scowls, “No. Not really. Just busy.”

He can hear the leer from the other side of the counter, “Busy doing _someone_?”

Kuki _definitely_ , does _not_ , blush. He also does not make an undignified sound at the images of Mutsuki’s hair spanned out below him, a green halo surrounded by white. Skin flushed, slick lips opened and _absolutely_ filthy and debauched _and_ – “Mutsuki would kill me.”

Yoneabayshi laughs and it’s sweet, “Yeah. He would.”)

Instead, he tries to be as closed off as possible. Tries to not bring much attention to himself, otherwise it would be mean that Saiko would stick with him home and he can’t have that happening.

That’s why; he’s packing up his stuff by the time the clock’s displaying the hour – fifteen minutes until six – at the time that he definitely does not leave at, and prays to The Lord Almighty that Saiko doesn’t notice, that she’s too busy playing on her gaming console – because there are no more clients, and it’s empty and will most likely remain that way until closing hours – and God will absolutely–

“Leaving so soon?”

–make his life miserable because there is no god, not anymore. He wonders, if it’s because he’s stopped going to church. Turns around, to face Saiko. She hasn’t looked up from her game, her fingers going _tap tap tap_ on the buttons of her gaming console – what he believes is a game-boy? That’s old – and that’s… that’s becoming annoying.

He inches closer to the door. “Yeah.”

Saiko raises an eyebrow.

He feels the need, to explain himself, really. “There’s not going to be any more clients coming in. Might as well close early.”

Saiko, thankfully, lets him get out of work early. 

He comes home to find Mutsuki wearing one of shirts and munching on some pop-tarts, he's watching a movie on the TV.

+

As the days go by, Urie begins to learn about Mutsuki even more. Not personal details like who his family members are, or what his last name is. But other things.

Like how Mutsuki is not really great at cooking and the only thing he knows how to make without burning the kitchen is scrambled eggs. How he bites his lip or brings a finger to them when he's thinking something. How his green eyes light up whenever Urie's around, when he laughs.

How Mutsuki is able to coax smiles from him, laughter. 

When they go out shopping, Urie's surprised to realize that not only Mutsuki'd bought men's clothes, he also picked a couple of dresses. There was a small idea in his brain that had suggested that Mutsuki didn't like wearing dresses, but that was quickly thrown out the window.

How Mutsuki has nightmares about losing the people he loves, so he sneaks in into Urie's bed by the fourth day – and Urie doesn't complain in the slightest, and then it's become the norm – and ends up being extremely cuddly.

The way Mutsuki's eyes light up like it's christmas, with fascination and curiosity radiating in waves when Urie takes him out to explore random places in the city that are not that fascinating but Mutsuki makes them feel like they're on Disney World or something.

He also realizes just how much he missed talking to Mutsuki, and wonders, briefly, how long Mutsuki will be staying with him. 

+

On sunday, Urie takes Mutsuki out to a club. Things sort of go like this: 

>   1. Mutsuki ends up wearing a sinfully tight dress that hugs and accentuates every curve on his body. So he looks amazing, and he knows it, and everyone knows it. So Urie has to control his temper or else he'll end up punching some assholes.
>   2. Mutsuki ends up buying their drinks – like he has been buying everything for the past week – and for some reason doesn't have his ID with him
>   3. which doesn't end up being a problem because Mutsuki's smart and a smooth-talker so he gets the drinks either way
>   4. It's not until Mutsuki's downed his second, or probably fourth glass of vodka that he reveals that he's sixteen.
>   5. and then Urie laughs, because it's a really funny joke.
>   6. It's not until he does look at Mutsuki, clearly, that he realizes he's telling the truth
>   7. Urie may or may not have fought with him.
>   8. Mutsuki stormed off.
> 


+

You’d think that losing a person at a club would be not much of a big deal. It’s mostly due to the fact that clubs tend to be full of people dancing and hooking up with others. It’s easier to find a one-night stand than finding the person who you came with. Much harder when you’re on your fifth drink and the room is beginning to spin – and he should’ve listened, earlier. Can hear Mutsuki´s reproachful voice telling him to not go out of the house without eating something – and the person is question might as well be fucking tiny.

Okay, no, Mutsuki isn’t tiny. He’s a couple of inches shorter than Urie at best, but is he _easy_ to lose in a crowd. There’s a nagging voice at the back of his head that’s making the worry and guilt triple and if he’s pushing people out of the way and will most likely end up pissing someone off, well, it doesn´t matter.

Somewhere, at one point of the night, this “date” became less of a date and more like a babysitting job. Because Mutsuki’s only sixteen and he should be the responsible one.

Urie lets out a curse, worms his way in between dancing bodies of people. Eyes flickering around trying to find the mop of green hair he’s familiar with. He shouldn´t have left him go, it´s mostly his fault he supposes. Shouldn’t have let him stand up. But _fuck_ , he was mad and he wasn’t thinking and he really didn’t want to speak to Mutsuki anymore at that instant. Still doesn’t want to, right now.

He’s still sour over the conversation they had earlier because this week has been nothing but a huge rollercoaster and he can only be around someone for so long before they start getting on his nerves. Mutsuki’s constant lying isn’t doing him any favors either and he–

Urie stops. Takes a deep breath, clears his head the most he can. He leans on a wall, just besides him a couple making out. People bump into his shoulder but he doesn’t pay them any attention and neither do they. This isn’t the time to be angry, he shouldn’t be angry. He’s worried and still mad but he can wait.

They can talk about it later.

Right now, he should just go find him.

Urie grits his teeth, shoves his hands into his pockets and looks around once more. He doesn’t need to move, it’ll be easier, he thinks, to find Mutsuki from one single spot. He couldn’t have gone far either; he doesn’t know anyone around this part of town.

He bites the inside of his cheek. Dark eyes scanning over the crowd until they settle at the bar, further in the back. He begins making his way there, running the possibilities that maybe Mutsuki’s still there, it’s possible, he supposes. Further into the night, the club began to fill up with even more people. It’s become clearly apparent, when Urie has bumped with at least fifty people – or somewhere around that – and almost managed to get spilled drinks on him. By the time he arrives at the bar and finds no sign of Mutsuki, his heart drops.

Instantly, his right hand grasps his cellphone in his pocket, pulling it out and staring at the screen. When he unlocks it, his eyes instantly focus on the hour displayed at the top. His mouth clicks shut and he can feel his lips thinning, clearly displeased now.

He swipes the screen and looks for his contacts, trying to find the number from which Mutsuki had called him for the first time a couple of days back. It takes him a couple of seconds, since he doesn’t do a lot of phone calls unless it was to check up on his dad – and even those are rare – and he wastes no time or hesitate before he’s dialing the number.

His hip rests on the counter, cellphone to his ear pressed closely. He can barely hear the sound of the ringing, drowned out by the heavy and loud music. Even while he waits, he’s looking around just in case he spots Mutsuki.

He’s barely aware of the sound of the cellphone though, when suddenly he spots Mutsuki walking into the club. He lets out a loud curse – too loud, apparently, because there are people nearby looking at him – and stomps towards Mutsuki. There’s a lot of emotions going on right now, too many to mention, too many for him to identify.

But he’s relieved, too relieved. And angry.

The people around him probably have noticed the look he has, there’s no other explanation, because suddenly it’s almost as if the path in front of him is devoid of people. He’s in front of Mutsuki in no time, and the green-haired male still hasn’t noticed him. His eyes cast downwards; Urie can’t see his face clearly, green bangs getting in the way.

His first instinct is to grab Mutuski by the arm, shake him, and demand him to tell him where the fuck he was because it wasn’t near the bar at all. He stops himself though, realizing that it wouldn’t do well to treat him that way. So he closes his hand, sets it at his side. Opens him mouth.

“Where the fuck where you?”

At this, Mutsuki finally looks up. Urie’s too mad to notice that Mutsuki’s flinched at the tone of his words, misses the way the male takes a step back and the puffiness to his eyes. “I was at the bar.”

Urie sees red for a second, clenches his fists until he can feel his short nails digging into his palm. He sneers. “ _Bullshit_.”

“Urie, I–“ Mutsuki begins, but then stops, looks at Urie’s face clearly now. Any words he was going to say, suddenly lost. The silence only manages to make Urie even angrier.

“Cut it out. _Just_ –fucking cut it out.” His words are nothing but venom and steel. He takes a step forward, “Why did you lie to me?”

“I didn’t lie to you I-“

“Yes you did! You weren’t here!”

“ _I was_!”

Urie takes a deep breath, pinches the bridge of his nose. He feels jittery, really pissed off. He’s holding onto what little patience he has. “Where are the drinks?”

Mutsuki’s taken back, because the sudden fire he had to deny his _lies,_ it’s gone. Quickly replaced by confusion. “Huh?”

“The drinks, Mutsuki. If you claim to have been here. Where are the drinks?” He crosses his arms.

And Mutsuki takes a couple of quick breaths, fingers twitch momentarily. His eyes glue themselves to Urie’s chest. Then he looks at Urie, firm. Green eyes suddenly losing that sparkle they once held earlier.

“I don’t have them.”

Urie scowls.

“Are you happy no–“

Mutsuki lets out a startled sound when a guy brushes past him. It’s in the span of a second, when the guy brushes his hand on Mutsuki’s arm and Mutsuki instantly flinches away. It’s over in a blink.

The guy – who Urie looks directly at now. Too thin, his face stretched and showed sharp cheekbones. It almost looked like he hadn’t had to eat in weeks, probably months. His eyes dark, a match to the dark circles under his eyes. He’s creepy. Urie’s attention lingers on him, something like unsettlement setting in his spine – tries to sound ashamed, sorry, but the look on his face as he says “Sorry, didn’t see you there” doesn’t strike Urie as the face of someone who stumbles into another person. It looks amused.

He hasn’t stopped looking at Mutsuki. It’s too long.

Urie’s eyes flicker towards Mutsuki who’s made a nice space between the two. He’s biting his lips, awfully quiet now. There’s a tension in his shoulders that is visible to see.

Urie grits his teeth. Done with being polite. He takes a step towards Mutsuki and levels the guy with a cold look. “Fuck off.”

The guy’s eyes widen momentarily before he shrugs. “Alright.”

His eyes are still on Mutsuki. Urie scowls.

He doesn’t utter another word, instead touches Mutsuki’s shoulder, getting his attention. “C’mon.” He says, and waits until Mutsuki nods, begins walking, before following after him.

It’s only when they’re going back to the table where they’re at, and he sits down, that he notices that Mutsuki hasn’t taken a seat. Hasn’t said anything. Isn’t moving.

“What?” Urie says, and if it comes off as a bit harsh, he doesn’t notice. There’s still the annoyance is gut that isn’t making this night anymore pleasant.

Mutsuki looks at him then, brings one arm to latch unto the other. Fingers grip it softly, and then the other one does the same. He hunches in on himself, closed off. “Can we go now.”

It’s not a question, despite it being made to sound like one.

Urie almost wants to disagree, tell him that _no_ , he’s allowed to have this night for himself. But then he realizes that the music’s too loud. It’s too crowded. And every second that ticks by, only reminds him that he’s annoyed as fuck with everything. It’s not only Mutsuki, it’s something about the place. That guy.

He pushes down the image of the guy standing too close to Mutsuki. The way he looked at him.

He shouldn’t be jealous, it’s probably not that. He tells himself it’s the fact that Mutsuki’s four years younger than him, and he hadn’t realized until a couple of hours ago. It’s the fact that the guy was eyeing Mutsuki in a way that was just _wrong_.

He couldn’t repress the thought of what might have happened if he hadn’t found him. It definitely sours his mood even further.

“Fine.”

The walk home is slow and tense. Since the club was one that was nearby, he didn’t feel like getting there by driving. He wouldn’t have gone home on the motorcycle either, since he was planning on going drinking.

They don’t speak to each other, which is fine with him. He’s looking at Mutsuki, who walks in front of him a couple of steps further. He can’t help but feel like something’s wrong though. He’s still somewhat mad though – and with the walk, at least he’s clearing his mind somewhat – so he doesn’t ask Mutsuki anything, and Mutsuki doesn’t utter a single word.

The ride up the elevator feels like forever. When he realizes that maybe he’s not as mad as he initially thought he was. They were already inside the apartment and Mutsuki made his way into the bathroom.

Not feeling like going in there right now, since it took a great deal of patience when it came to it. He simply took off the shirt he had been wearing and the pants. He threw them in the corner. Opening one of the drawers, he takes a single pajama pant, not bothering to take out something for Mutsuki to wear. He knows where everything is, he can get it himself.

When he hits the bed, draws the cover up to his neck and faces the wall. He doesn’t sleep. He hears Mutsuki’s movements in the bathroom just outside his door. Then, a door opening, closing. The sound of footsteps in the room and the sound of clothing hitting the floor.

There’s more movement, and then the bed dips in. He’s almost expecting Mutsuki to shuffle closer towards him. But Mutsuki doesn’t move, doesn’t do anything. Urie only knows that he’s facing him, because he can feel warm breathing on his back.

And maybe, he’s kind of glad that Mutsuki hadn’t moved to touch him. Because he’s not sure if he would have accepted any touch from him tonight.

“Urie?”

Urie doesn’t respond.

Mutsuki stays waiting for an answer for what seems like an eternity before sighing. Urie listens as Mutsuki turns around on the bed.

It’s not until he hears even breathing that he knows Mutsuki’s sleeping. He pushes down the feeling of guilt in his gut and lets out a breath. He closes his eyes.

+

When Urie wakes up, it's to the sight of warm sunlight illuminating his bedroom, the warmth of his sheets had long been gone, kicked off until the sheets only covered his feet. Even without turning around, he knows that Mutsuki's not asleep besides him. He closes his eyes, breathes in.

He feels restless, although that's to be expected. Even though it's going to be around ten in the morning, it almost feels like he hasn't slept. Vaguely, he wonders just how long Mutsuki's been awake. Urie doesn't even bother to listen to see if there's any movement from behind the – closed, well then, Mutsuki _is_ awake – door. 

Urie watches dust-motes dance under the light for a while. Until he can't stand the lingering stench of alcohol and sweat and decides to become a decent human being.

He walks out of the bedroom, not bothering to keep the amount of noise at a minimum. He doesn't let his eyes wander off to the side of his small apartment, clearly aware that Mutsuki's there. Instead, he heads to the bathroom, locks the door behind him and does his morning routine. Urie extends it out, then, because he really does not know what to say to Mutsuki.

They should talk. They _need_ to talk, because there's a lot of things that Urie just needs sorted out if Mutsuki's going to stay longer. Like a _detailed_ explanation of the events that led to Mutsuki's decision to run away. Where his parents are, and why they're not looking for him. 

Urie mulls over the various questions, the posibilities, but can't settle with one. Not even after he's done in the bathroom, heads to his room and begins to clothe himself. 

Then he finds himself out into the living room and into the kitchen. Right away his nose is filled with scent of coffee, his eyes land instantly on the kitchen's counter, where Mutsuki's sat down on one of the stools near it. Both hands cupping a black mug, which he nurses carefully. Just in front of him, there's a plate with toast and scrambled eggs, and another mug with what's most likely coffee. To the side, another plate, empty.

Urie takes a small amount of time to look at Mutsuki's figure, taking advantage that the other hasn't noticed him standing there yet.

The teenager is hunched over the counter, arms resting on the marble-surface. His hair is messy, almost as if he's been running his fingers through it constantly. There's something about the way he's holding himself that tugs at Urie's heart somewhat, but he ignores it. His eyes then settle on what Mutsuki's wearing, and it doesn't take him more than a blink of an eye to realize that it's one of his shirts. Big enough to fit loosely on his body, and long enough so that it covers his underwear when he's sitting down.

Urie watches as Mutsuki's fingers trace the rim of the cup before sighing.

He waits until Mutsuki's done drinking his coffee and then rasps on the wall. Mutsuki startles and his head whips around to the place where Urie stands. His eyes widen momentarily, then they take into notice Urie's outfit before they look away. Mutsuki shifts on his seat.

"Morning."

Urie makes a sound, acknowledging him.

"I, uh... I made breakfast." Mutsuki points at the plate and Urie's eyes flicker towards it. He runs his tongue over his teeth, ponders on the fact that Mutsuki's tone of voice isn't secure, it's almost... _small_.

He knows it should make him feel guilty, because Mutsuki's pulled this card before, and before where'd it make Urie feel like a huge asshole, this time, he can't help but feel a small amount of annoyance begin to bubble up inside his chest. 

"I'm not hungry," He leans on the wall, watches as Mutsuki flinches, and surprisingly enough, doesn't say anything else. Instead, he goes back to drinking from his cup.

Urie watches him, probably spends five minutes doing so. The air is tense with the silent, and neither of them is making a move to eliminate it. Urie realizes then that Mutsuki isn't going to speak. Probably won't explain himself.

He grits his teeth.

"I'm going to work." He grunts, and watches out of the corner of his eye how Mutsuki still hasn't looked at him. Instead, Mutsuki focuses all of his attention on the mug, as if it were going to give him all the answers in the world.

"Oh." Mutsuki replies, a couple of seconds later, "Okay". He doesn't point out how Urie doesn't have work today, doesn't even seem bothered by the blatant lie, and Urie? Urie's still sour over last night's events to care. He picks up the keys to his motor cycle and doesn't say anything else as he walks out of the apartment. 

When he's driving down the road, helmet on and no particular place in mind. Urie ends up taking a familiar route, mind blissfully empty except for the plan to head over to Saiko's.

He knows that she doesn't work today either, the shift belonging to Shirazu and Suzuya for the day. He also knows that Saiko rarely goes out when she has a day off, and if college isn't drowning her with work right now, then there's a possibility that he might be able to vent in a healthy way. Say, instead of, beating _something_ up.

Urie parks outside a small building, much like his own. Except that this one is clearly cared for. Having already been here countless times before, it's almost automatic how he moves. Before he realizes it, he's knocking on Saiko's door and waiting for her to open the door.

He counts exactly 120 seconds before the door opens, and he's met with Saiko's form, surprisingly looking like a decent-human being.

Her blue hair is tied up in her trade-mark pigtails, they don't look as messy as they usually do at work, which makes Urie think that she runs her fingers through her hair a lot before going to work. Other than that, she's on her pajamas, not looking like she's just woken up, but still feeling comfortable about lounging around his her pajamas.

"God, you're annoying." She says as a way of greeting and Urie shrugs.

"Are you going to let me in?" He asks, feeling some of the tension from earlier leave. Saiko has that effect on him. Urie supposes it's because she's always so carefree. It's only convenient at times, when he's not being bothered or annoyed by it.

Saiko eyes him, her eyes lingering on what's most likely dark bags under his eyes, then she nods. "Lock the door behind you."

She walks inside and instantly moves to the kitchen. Urie follows shortly after, having locked the door. He notes right away that Saiko's kicthen is a mess. He raises a single, dark, questioning eyebrow at the mess. Saiko decides to ignore it.

"So, what brings you here?" She asks.

Urie debates on what to say, and then;

“He wants to go on dates.” He says, finally, let’s out a breath he didn’t know he was holding and it feels like there’s something lifting from his shoulders. And it feels good, too damn good.

“Who?” Saiko asks as she starts cleaning the counter. Urie’s laying his head on it, so when she comes to his side, he lifts the upper part of his body, holds there for a couple of seconds and then drops once more into the counter. It makes a soft thud-like sound. He buries his head in between his arms.

“Mutsuki.”

“Oh.”

He grunts. Can definitely _hear_ Saiko rolling her eyes.

“Okay, let’s suppose I knew Mutsuki’s over. What’s so bad about him wanting to go out on dates?” She pauses, then, “I thought you said you wanted to take _him_ on dates.”

And that’s the thing. He’d loved the idea of seeing Mutsuki for the first time and take him places that are entertaining, maybe to a movie, the park. Anywhere really, and it’s those sappy romantic feelings that leave him reeling for days and absolutely confused but _happy_ nonetheless. And the problem is that right now, those things – those thoughts, intrusive – are the source of a constant stream of stress that he didn’t know a person could handle.

It’s only been a week and he feels tired as shit.

He doesn’t let Saiko know, how, he’d love to take Mutsuki on dates – actual ones, where they’re not constantly hiding – but they don’t feel right, they feel– “I– _Fuck_.” Sits up and runs his hands through his hair, “I do. I _really_ do. But God, he wants to go out on _dates_ and act like a _normal couple_ should and it’s so confusing.”

God bless Saiko, because she doesn’t comment on how out of character this rant of his is – He hasn’t felt like this in a long time, back when he decided that maybe guys aren’t that bad, aesthetically pleasing and his father may or may not have found him sticking his tongue down a guy’s throat and those were really confusing and stressful months of feeling like shit – but instead scoffs, like someone does when they’re annoyed by something.

“Get over it. I don’t see what the problem with all of it is really.” There’s another pause here and Urie counts three breaths, turns to look at Saiko who’s moved on to fridge and is pulling out a mug of something, goes to the microwave and then puts it inside.

He walks over to her, rests his hip on the counter. “I don’t want to.” He says, voice resigned.

The microwave is background noise. Saiko waits just besides it. Urie raises an eyebrow, wants to comment on the fact that _that’s_ not safe but he knows that the conversation will get side-tracked.

“Then don’t?” Saiko blinks.

“He’s been lying to me.” And if his voice comes out a bit more sharper, angrier, he doesn’t notice.

“Couples lie all the time.”

“He shouldn’t lie to me.”

Saiko’s attention is on the cup of chocolate, and its fine, really. Urie’s not looking at her, he’s too busy burning a hole through the wall with his gaze and trying to keep his anger under control because this upsetting. It’s only been a week.

He doesn’t know if he can stand another with Mutsuki.

“It sounds like you’re looking for an excuse.” Saiko says and Urie opens his mouth to protest, she cuts him off with a single finger. “Are you?”

He lets the silence go longer than he’d wanted it to. But it’s happened, he can’t take it back. Saiko isn’t bothered by it, in fact, the microwave finishes and she takes the cup out. The smell of hot chocolate hits his nose, he scrunches it. Saiko smells the damn thing.

“I don’t know.” Then, “maybe.”

“Why exactly are you mad?” Saiko stops enjoying the aroma of her disgusting drink and then fully turns to look at him. Her face is carefully devoid of any feelings, blank. Urie blinks, momentarily shocked because he hasn’t seen Saiko looking like this and it’s weird. “Is it because he lied or because _of_ the lie?”

It’s unsettling.

There’s a single question though, between the two of them. It takes him a single second to realize the hidden implication behind _that_ look and he feels his stomach tighten. He scrunches up his face, suddenly defensive.

“No.” He says, carefully, harsh, “ ** _He_** didn’t lie about _that_.”

Saiko studies him for a minute – or two, he doesn’t know – and he doesn’t dare break eye contact. Then, she licks her lips, nods. “Alright, what did he lie about?”

And it’s really, _really_ not his place to divulge this information, it should be Mutsuki’s to divulge. Otherwise he would’ve done it long ago, but it’s been itching at the back of his brain for the last day and he needs someone who will understand his frustration and–

“He’s sixteen.”

Saiko’s eyes widen, “Shit.”

And Urie thinks, _shit indeed_. “Do you see wh–“

“So does that mean that a kid beat my highsc–“

“That’s _not_ the point!” He hisses.

“ _I know_ ,” Saiko lets out a puff of laughter, leans on the counter and tugs at the end of one of her pigtails. Her eyes are still a bit wide, disbelieving, “I’m just trying to ignore the fact that you’re a craddle robber.”

Then she takes a sip of the chocolate. Obviously, she ends up burning her tongue and almost drops the damn thing. It clinks on the counter; Urie watches a drop of dark liquid run down the mug.

Then, he fumes, opens his mouth to say that he’s _not a craddle robber_ but the words die on his tongue.

He stumbles back, hits the wall behind him and then doesn’t stop his body from following the gravity as it pushes him down, until he’s sitting on the floor, one leg bent and the other straight. He runs his hand through his hair, once, twice, and then pulls.

“I… fuck.” He can’t be having an existential crisis right now. He’s too young, and apparently a craddle robber and he’s fucked. Truly fucked.

“Yeah. You’re fucked.” Saiko says.

Urie nods.

“So, what are you going to do?”

He blinks. Frowns. “Do?”

Saiko then looks at him, and her face does this thing that’s so out of character, so unusual for her usual calm demeanor, that it leaves Urie even more confused. “Yes. _Do_. You know, you’re dating a minor.”

Yeah, he knows. “I know.”

“So are you going to break up with him?”

Urie closes his eyes, tries to think of a reason to say _yes, I will_. It’s the responsible thing to do. But he knows bullshit, and that is utter and complete crap and even if he were to say it he knows that Saiko wouldn’t believe it. He himself doesn’t.

It’s the single thought of not being able to make Mutsuki smile that keeps him from leaving this. The thought of not being able to speak to him, because as mad as he is with him right now, and as much as his boyfriend is weirding him out, he can’t deny the fact that he does feel more content when speaking to Mutsuki.

He doesn’t deny the fact that he’s somewhat happy over the fact that he’s able to properly see Mutsuki – when he’s waking up and the world hasn’t fully registered in his beautiful green eyes and they’re so innocent-like and not broken or hurt, peaceful – and to touch him, be able to hold hands and run his fingers across a canvas of brown skin. And it’s all types of ridiculous but God does he love it.

He lets his head fall back with a loud _thud_.

“No.”

Saiko doesn’t reply. Which is fine, it’s totally fine. He’s not going to freak out.

“Don’t call the police on me.” He says, after a while. Saiko bursts out laughing.

 _Maybe_ , he thinks, if Mutsuki hadn’t run away from home and hadn’t met up with him, he could’ve done it. Back when their relationship was strictly on the internet and through messages. Sure, it would have hurt because he really does care for him, but it would’ve needed to end. He could have moved on. Met someone _his age_.

But things aren’t like that. Mutsuki’s here, staying for who knows how long – hopefully, long enough so that they can figure out what the hell they’re going to do once Mutsuki’s family finds them – and they’ve already slept together in the same bed and Mutsuki’s so much more alluring and confusing in person and it makes him _happy_.

There’s a special place in hell for people like him. He’s sure. Can hear the sound of his father late at night reading, he knows, _Romans 1:26-28_.

“Well,” Saiko drawls, sips from her chocolate – still hot, she gulps it down and then winces – “does this mean that now you have to explain to your, poor, _catholic_ dad that his son is not only gay–“

“– _Pansexual_ –”

“– but is also dating minors,” Saiko raises an eyebrow.

Urie flips her off.

“You’re going to kill him.” The reproachful tone in her voice is nothing but dramatic, and it makes him roll his eyes. The corner of his lip twitches.

“I thought I did six years ago.”

“Fair enough.” Saiko says, and then she drinks on her beverage. “In your defense, that guy had a _killer_ ass. I would tap that.” She scrunches up her nose, “not sexually.”

Urie watches her, nothing particular in mind. His hair is most likely a mess; he doesn’t need a mirror to see it. He _feels_ like a mess.

“So, is he there?”

Urie raises an eyebrow.

“In your apartment?” Saiko amends.

“What makes you think so?”

“Well, he’s definitely not here,” She deadpans. “And you’re hiding, from him.”

He averts his eyes, settles them on the floor. There’s a crack in the floor tiles that he’s suddenly found a huge interest in.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

A nod.

“Alright.” She nods, then, “We should move.”

Urie doesn’t reply, simply follows Saiko towards the living room.

“He called me last Saturday at around three in the morning. I didn’t know who it was though, he’s very lucky I picked up.” Urie begins; he rests his hands – pale and tense, recalling the events – on his legs, hands curling into fists. His eyes are trained there, not looking at Saiko. “Anyways, he calls crying and just sounding scared. Saying how he didn’t know what to do or who to call and that he remembered my cellphone number – I think he was calling from a payphone or lost his cellphone because he does, _did_ , have my phone number – and called. He was asking for help.”

“Help?”

“Yeah,” he sags into the couch, drapes an arm over his eyes. “Something about his family. He ran away. Told me to _please_ meet up with him at Cochlea Park, urgently. It’s three in the morning, and I’ve just fucking woken up and there’s this stranger talking to me through my phone sounding _female_ and scared and–“

“And?” He hears Saiko move closer to him.

“– and _young._ That’s why I went. Because the person talking to me sounded young, scared and _young_ and crying. Fucking _crying._ ” He grunts, “But it’s three am and I decide _, fuck it_. It’s probably a joke.”

Saiko’s frown, he can hear, knows what she’s going to ask before it’s out of her mouth. “You went to look for him, right?”

“Yeah. I did.” He lets a deprecating smile paint itself on his face, “three hours later.” He uncovers one eye, can see Saiko’s almost worried look on her face, but it doesn’t elevate further than that. Just pinched eyebrows and the tiniest tilt of her lips downwards. She does not look more panicked because she knows that Mutsuki’s staying over so they did end up meeting.

“Anyways, I go and find Mutsuki – who I did not know was Mutsuki because the idiot never sent me a picture, not that it bothered me until now, what’s with him being shy and whatnot. The only reason as to why I even recognized him was because I saw his face once and my memory decided to just keep that image somewhere safe – wearing what’s supposed to be a _dress_ but it’s basically scraps sewn together. The idiot wasn’t even wearing a coat.”

“By this point, I feel like a fucking huge asshole because he was waiting for me. He looked–“ He cuts himself off here, a bitter taste on his tongue. Mutsuki looked crestfallen, the look of someone who was just resigned to acknowledge that they were going to get no help, were going to be forgotten and it makes him feel like absolute shit. “He looked sad, and then happy – when he spotted me – and I took him to my apartment, because he didn’t want to talk about it on the way. We talked.”

He shuts up now, busy recalling the conversation.

“You talked,” Saiko says and Urie takes a moment to realize that he stopped. He scowls.

“His family is on some sort of vacation around these parts – obviously, the cleaner parts of town – and he just… ran away from home... them.”

“Just like that?” Saiko asks, curious, probably also weary.

“Yeah, he… he.” He holds his tongue. “He didn’t specify. “

Urie leans forward, arm falling from his face with carefulness. His eyes flicker from the tv to the wall and then to his hands, they rest there. “You know, I didn’t ask him for the reason. I think it was pretty self-explanatory.”

“How come?”

“He had this bruise. On his back,” he turns to look at Saiko. “Mutsuki never talked about his family. All I know is that they’re rich, filthily rich. And that bruise on his back most likely came from them.” He shrugs, trying to get his brain to accept the information, but it still doesn’t settle right with him. Almost as if he’s missing something. “I didn’t pry any further, he was starting to look uncomfortable and tired. I just assumed that the bruise had come from them, um,” he coughed, “hitting him.”

Saiko frowns now, “Mutsuki never mentioned anything about his parents being abusive.”

Urie can’t really find a comment with which to reply, so he stays quiet.

“How much do you know about Mutsuki?” He asks then, voice low. Now that he’s starting to think about it, it’s bugging him, not knowing about Mutsuki but at the same time _knowing_.

Saiko shrugs; it’s a slow movement, unsure. “I guess…a little bit less than you. Now that you mention it though, him being underage means that he was most likely trying to protect his identity, makes sense when you think about it.”

“Yeah, not likely since he ended up dating someone four years his senior.” Urie says, rolling his eyes.

Saiko makes a dismissive movement with her hand, “Well, at least it was you and not some weirdo on the internet.”

“I was a weirdo.”

“A cute weirdo then.” Saiko lets a playful smile reach her lips.

Urie ignores the comment. “Anyways, we didn’t do much. The whole week has gone strangely calm, it feels weird. It feels–“

“Domestic?”

He blinks, “domestic.” He echoes, rolls the word around his tongue. “I think?”

He clears his throat then, “We had a fight last night. He wanted to go out, so I indulged him, he was probably bored out of his mind. So we went out, to a club.” He ignores the look Saiko sends him, “I didn’t realize that he was sixteen until he was on his third shot of vodka and decided to tell me that tidbit of information.” He rolls his eyes, “so at this point he’s lying, tells me he’s going to go get more drinks. He… he–“

He runs a hand through his hair, leaves them both there and then tugs. He remembers feeling panicked, pissed off, completely angry and lied to _, hurt_. But also, really worried because his boyfriend, his _underage_ boyfriend was drinking and was most likely mingling with other people and _fuck._ _Now_ he knows what was bothering him that night.

It was the way Mutsuki carried himself around the crowd. He didn’t seem nervous, not how he seemed when they were walking towards the club, clinging closely to Urie’s side, not looking upwards. Avoiding eye contact but a smile on his lips, clearly excited to spend the night on what he called a ´date´. He hadn’t realized it until now, but even though Mutsuki was wearing a dress, he didn’t seem uncomfortable like he had back that day when Urie found him.

He looked comfortable, or at least his face displayed a mask that showed comfort. He was probably uncomfortable about the dress, but _definitely_ not about having to be surrounding with people, interacting. In fact, his shoulders seemed more relaxed. It was the type of air someone who was accustomed to this sort of event – whether it be formal or informal – would display.

His theory however, is confirmed when he recalls how easily Mutsuki was able to charm the bartender into giving him the drinks, without checking for ID because Mutsuki looked young, looks young. It was an easy ordeal, a few trades of words and Mutsuki was happily giving him his drink.

It was almost as if he was slipping into a second-skin, not comfortable but also not impossible to wear, might even be pleasant for a certain amount of time.

“He doesn’t come back to the table. I go look for him,” he says, because it’s easier to say and he doesn’t want to jump to conclusions, he needs to talk to him, “he lied. Again. He wasn’t at the bar, he was nowhere near it.”

“Where was he?”

Urie licks his lips, tries to remember from where exactly Mutsuki had come from but having no luck identifying what that part of the building had that Mutsuki was so eager to leave the bar – _if_ , he had gone there from the beginning at all – and head there. He shakes his head. “Some other part of the club. Couldn’t tell, all I know is that I found him.”

“You know,” Saiko drawls and he turns to look at her, one eyebrow raised in silent questioning. “I don’t think it was a wise idea to let him go get drinks, if he´s sixteen. In a bar full of adults.”

He clicks his tongue, “I know. That’s why I went looking for him.”

“You still left him leave the table.”

He glares, “Do you blame me?”

Saiko shakes her head. “No, I understand why you’d be pissed.”

Urie grunts.

“Still, there are a lot of bad people Urie.” Saiko adopts that tone of voice, the one that Urie detests a whole lot because a person like Saiko – who’s by far more irresponsible than he is, the epitome of laziness – does not have the right to sound like. Disappointed and reproachful and it makes her look – and sound – older than she is, and it makes him have second doubts and Urie’s sure she’s doing it on purpose. “Be glad that you found him.”

Urie lets out air through his nose.

“So?” Saiko hums.

 _Be glad that you found him_ , she says, and Urie silently admits that despite the fact that he was mad last night, the sudden warmth or relief that covered his body once he spotted Mutsuki. Then, he remembers the guy that just wouldn’t stop looking at Mutsuki and his throat feels dry.

“ _Shit_.” He jolts up, a cold shiver running down his spine, then, “Fucking–“

“What?” Saiko asks, surprised. She’s standing up too now, watching Urie move with ease and quickness towards the front door.

“He’s an idiot.” _I’m an idiot,_ he bites his lip. Then, he looks back at Saiko. “I’m going.”

“I can see,” she deadpans, “rude.”

He snorts. Picks up his helmet from the table near the door and tucks it under his armpit. “Yeah.”

He’s running down the stairs and out of the building in record time. He doesn’t waste anytime putting on his helmet and then driving down the road, all the while thinking about how closed-off Mutsuki looked last night.

And _fuck_. He's allowed to be mad, over everything that's been happening, but he's the oldest one. The one who's supposed to be responsible, and if something had happened to Mutsuki that he hadn't said anything about because of the way Urie had been treating him, he–

Urie swallows. Yeah, _no_. He's not going to think about it because it didn't happen. Nothing happened.

He just needs to confirm it. The apartment is just around the block. 

+

 When he arrives, he stands outside his door for a couple of minutes trying to get his shit together. There's no need to walk in looking like he's almost lost his mind, as if the thoughts of something having happened to Mutsuki affect him – and they do, they really do – because Urie knows that if he freaks out, Mutsuki will too. It's a chain reaction, the least he can do is hold any sort of control in the situation.

Taking a deep breath, he opens the door and walks inside the apartment, his eyes instantly roaming around the living room. The corner of his mouth tugs downwards, bedroom it is then.

Urie doesn't mask the loud sound of his feet on the floor as he makes his way to the bedroom. Even before he's opened the door, he knows that Mutsuki's inside.

He's not let down, when his eyes lock in on Mutsuki's form on the bed, sitting on it. Legs drawn in into his chest. Mutsuki's face is covered by his arm as he rubs it on his face before removing it and looking up. His eyes are red and puffy and there are slight tremors wrecking his body.

Mutsuki blinks a couple of times, swallows a sob. 

Urie steps forward, not knowing what to do. Now that he's seen Mutsuki crying. It's different than he'd imagined back when he first heard him cry over the phone.

"Are you okay?" He asks, keeps on advancing towards the bed. Doesn't stop until he's on the bed too, close enough to Mutsuki so that Mutsuki's toes touch him. 

Mutsuki lets out a shaky breath, opens his mouth to say what's most likely a 'yes' – Urie knows, has done it himself before – but then shuts it. Sniffs. "No."

It comes out soft, shaking. Urie's fingers twitch.

"Do you want me to..." He trails off, waits for Mutsuki to reply.

Mutsuki nods, and Urie closes the distance, bringing Mutsuki flushed against him. There's a small moment where Urie can feel just how tense Mutsuki is, before he relaxes completely. Mutsuki's arms wrap around Urie and hugs him closer. 

Mutsuki doesn't cry, but he's breathing heavily, shakily. Urie rests his head atop green hair, plants a small kiss and lets out air through his nose.

"I'm sorry." He murmurs.

Mutsuki shakes his head. "I'm the one that's sorry." His voice comes out muffled, but Urie catches it anyways. He sighs.

"Mutsuki," He says, pulls Mutsuki back a bit. Mutsuki looks up at him, green eyes, big and open staring back. "I need you to be honest with me."

Mutsuki doesn't say anything.

"Did something happen last night?" Urie asks slowly, and watches as Mutsuki's face changes from confusion to realization so quickly that he's hit with the whiplash. 

Mutsuki swallows, and then speaks. "No... not really."

Urie's mouth thins. 

"I mean," Mutsuki corrects himself, "No. Just... this guy, Saeki, I think was his name? He was um, he was hitting on me."

Urie's eyes widen, his fingers digging into Mutsuki's skin.

"It's okay, though." Mutsuki says, quickly, "He didn't do anything to me. He was just being creepy, I'm um... I'm used to that."

Urie scans Mutsuki's face for any sign of having been lied to, but he can't find anything that gives him away. Instead he lets out a sigh, pulls Mutsuki back towards him, buries his face on the crook of Mutsuki's neck. 

"Alright," He says after a while. "I believe you."

Mutsuki lets out a sound, something resembling a whine.

Urie works on easing the anger that had begun to constrict his chest when Mutsuki mentioned about the guy being a creep. He knows that these sorts of things are usual in public places such as those, but it still bothers him thinking about the fact that Mutsuki was left alone with that fucking creep. 

He hugs Mutsuki tighter.

At least nothing happened.

+

The next couple of days were slow and easy going. They spent most of their time watching tv and cooking, since Urie's shifts were on the afternoon, they usually spent the mornings together cuddled in bed and the nights either going out or watching movies.

There was even a plan thrown out, to go out to a fancy restaurant to have yet another date. 

It was an easy routine that Urie quickly got accustomed to. It was also a bonus that Mutsuki had apparently dropped whatever hesitation he had before when it came to physical contact. Whereas before the only thing that they did was hold hands, cuddle, or hug. Now they often kissed.

A lot.

_A lot._

Mutsuki's mouth – Urie realizes later, when they're making out against a wall and he's suddenly back to his teenage years where he became awfully excited by simply kissing – is dangerous. Too much.

Specially when he ends up hard, just because Mutsuki's been kissing him filthy for the past twenty minutes. He doesn't know if to feel mortified or if– 

Urie's vaguely aware of nimble fingers beginning to fumble with his pant's zipper. He lets out a small groan with the friction, his cock twitching with arousal. He opens his mouth to ask - snap at - Mutsuki what he's doing, because there's something wrong about this picture and then-

His mind goes visibly blank when Mutsuki falls to his knees. Lips swollen and slick with saliva, a nice flush on his face, eyes trained on his erection, covered by his jeans. His mouth goes dry.

He lets his head fall back into the wall, cursing. He's _definitely_ going to hell.

"Mutsuki-" He begins to protest, one hand reaching out to grip on of Mutsuki's wrist. Urie takes a couple of seconds gathering his breath, then he looks at Mutsuki. 

"What?" And, no. _No_. he shouldn't be able to pull that innocent and confused face right now. _Damn it._

"You shouldn't." Urie says, lets out a breath through his nose. Mutsuki pulls his wrist back.

"I want to."

"No." He says now, keeps on breathing. Ignores Mutsuki's hot breath on his crotch.

"But-"

Urie groans, his other hand running through his hair, tugging. "Mutsuki."

And because life loves to constantly fuck him over, the asshole doesn't listen to him. Mutsuki pulls down his zipper, palms the bulge of his cock through his underwear, all the while maintaining eye contact with Urie. 

Urie stares back, even though he feels the need to cant his hips forward, he's not going to back down from this. 

"You're stubborn." Urie says, and Mutsuki's eyes warm a little.

"Please." He says, licks his lips and eyes Urie's covered erection, " _please_."

Because apparently Mutsuki doesn't know any other words, and because whatever self-control Urie had in that moment went to hell. He simply curses, unbuckles his belt and lowers his pants. He doesn't need to look downwards to see that his boxers sport a wet spot from his precum. 

Urie lets out a huff of breath through his mouth, loud in the almost silent apartment  **-** if he doesn't count the pants of breath, Mutsuki's shuffling on his knees. The sound of his heartbeat loud and constant ringing in his ears - and decides that maybe Mutsuki will reconsider doing this because he's young and most likely hasn't done anything like this.

He steals a glance at Mutsuki, there's indecision displayed clearly on his flushed face. His arms are both besides him, hands twitching, not knowing what to do.

Urie speaks, "Are you going to be doing anything?" and then belatedly realizes that he shouldn't be incentivizing this. He should be stopping it.

"I-" Mutsuki opens his mouth, cuts himself off. His green eyes flicker from Urie's erection to his own dark eyes, and then one hand comes up, a visible swallow from his throat. "Yeah." 

Urie opens his mouth to retort something - he no longer knows what it was - but is cut off by a low groan from himself when Mutsuki mouths at his cock through the fabric, both hands gripping the sides of his tights. Even through the clothing, the feeling of Mutsuki's tongue pressing into his erection makes Urie close his eyes, hot washing through his body in waves. 

Then, nimble fingers are digging inside his underwear, pulling it down. His cock juts out obscenely against the air and Urie's mind goes blissfully blank for a small second, just enough for his hand to move closer to his dick, fingers closing around it and stroking, until he feels himself getting harder, an automatic movement. Only to receive a swat at his hand for it. He opens his eyes.

"No." Mutsuki breathes out, there's a small frown on his face. "No." He repeats, then leans in closer. Palms pressed into the side of his thighs. He pushes Urie back into the wall with ease, having received no resistance from him at all, and then licks his lips.

There's a moment where Mutsuki eyes him, not really knowing _what_ to do. Then he leans forward - hot breathing, pants - and presses his tongue flat on the underside of his cock and upwards, mouthing his hardening erection with a sure but clearly inexperienced movement. Urie's fingers twitch to hold on to something, anything.

Instead, he leans his head back on the wall, closes his eyes and breaths through his nose. Not daring to raise his hands to lay them on Mutsuki's green hair. 

Mutsuki's tongue is running up and down his member, coating it with saliva. Then one hand wraps around it and begins to stroke it, slow but steady pace that becomes sloppier when Mutsuki's thumb swipes on the slit of his cock, smearing precum. 

"Shit." Urie lets out a breath, one eye opening to find Mutsuki looking at him. It takes him a second to realize that the movement has stopped, his hips buck forward, seeking friction. "What?"

Mutsuki flushes even more now, he licks his lips and Urie has to count to five to not do something he'll regret later - like bending Mutsuki over a table and- 

"Can..." Mutsuki cuts himself off here, shaking his head.

"Can you what?" Urie asks, voice low.

"Nothing." Mutsuki says, and then begins to stroke his cock once more. Urie grits his teeth, fingers closing painfully hard on his palms. Nails biting into skin, and then he feels Mutsuki place a tentative kiss on the head of his cock.

Lips open up to suck on the tip of the head, a tongue pressed flat, then, slowly, Mutsuki begins to lower his head on Urie's member. And Urie? Urie's painfully hard and trying to ignore the image of Mutsuki swallowing his dick, how stretched out his lips are. How Mutsuki can't take all of it, not when he's half-way down and chokes. Skin flushing, he retracts slowly.

A string of saliva and precum connecting his lips to Urie's member. Then, Mutsuki tries again, and succeeds in taking another inch into his mouth. There's the smallest crease of eyebrows when he realizes he won't be able to take in any more, so he pulls back and then bobs his head. His hand covering what his mouth can't.

After that, Mutsuki begins a slow pace of sucking and stroking Urie's member, eliciting deep pleased sounds from Urie's throat. At one point, Urie's hand has grabbed onto green locks, not that he'd realize this. Mutsuki by his part, doesn't seem bothered by it, if not, his efforts double and he begins to bob his head and run his tongue with more enthusiasm.

Urie's hips stutter forward, accidentally hitting the back of Mutsuki's throat. Mutsuki gags, then pulls off. Even without opening his eyes, Urie can hear Mutsuki's short gasp of air. Even while he tries to regain his breathing, his hands are still pumping Urie's cock.

"Mutsuki," Urie hears himself say - moan - when Mutsuki sucks on the head of his cock, constantly. There's a familiar pressure that tells him he's getting closer. He pulls Mutsuki away from his cock, but the hand that's working him doesn't stop.

Mutsuki's tongue comes out his mouth, licks his lips and then he leans forward again sucking at the tip of the head. Urie comes - silent, he's never been particularly loud - and opens his eyes to watch his dick shoot out ropes of come on Mutsuki's face. Mutsuki's mouth.

It dribbles down his chin in thick strings, and Urie has to bite his hand because Mutsuki covered in his come is definitely not something he needs ingrained in his brain. Mutsuki, for his part, looks somewhat surprised, but then one hand comes to wipe away the come that's dangerously close to his eye, and his mouth parts, his tongue cleaning out Urie's seed around Mutsuki's lip.

"It's weird," Mutsuki says, his voice that same tone that Urie has heard in some of his onenight-stands, somehow, being more alluring on Mutsuki. "The taste."

He lets out a small cringe, and then proceeds to wipe with his hand the rest of Urie's come, wiping it on the leg of his pants. He looks up at Urie, who's still trying to catch his breath, silent. Eyes on Mutsuki.

Then, Mutsuki gives him this goofy smile that doesn't fit in with the current atmosphere and Urie can't help but snicker.

+

When Mutsuki showed up later with a suit for him, Urie realised that something was wrong. He just didn't realize what it was until later. 

He really shouldn't have been surprised when the moment they stepped outside – clothes too fancy, too extravagant for a neighborhood the likes of which Urie has spent the last three years living in – a limousine simply parks just in front of them. He’s momentarily stunned, thinking, maybe, that it’s not for them. But then Mutsuki’s striding – heels clicking, they are higher than the ones he wore at the club the other day – with the air of someone who´s been expecting said method of transportation.

Urie’s still standing in the same spot, rooted by what’s most likely shock – and then later, he’ll come to realize it’s not shock but fear, of something that he wouldn’t understand the cause of until a couple of years have gone by – to the ground. He’s watching as Mutsuki stops just near the door of the slick and black limousine. How, a moment later, the chauffeur steps outside the car, rounds it, reaches their side and opens the door.

The man speaks, but it falls deaf on Urie’s ears. Mutsuki’s smiling, a timid smile and then says something, lower, that is definitely not meant for Urie’s ears.

"Urie," Mutsuki turns to look at him now, and there's something about the way he looks at Urie, this certain emotion that he can't quite decipher.

He nods, doesn't need any  more instructions. He walks up towards the limousine, waits until Mutsuki's seated inside and then he gets inside, sits down besides Mutsuki and tries not to let his eyes wander. Much.

(Okay, blame him. He's never been inside a limo in all of his life, will most likely never get inside one ever again) 

Urie tries to get comfortable on the leather seats, a dark colour that he can't tell which is because the lights inside the limo are dimmed low, just enough so that everything else but them is not really visible. From his position, he can only hear the sound of Mutsuki's breathing, the small sounds of shifting on the seats.

He doesn't know if they're supposed to talk or anything. His motorcycle, and by extension his helmet, gave him that sort of sanctuary. He's not good at small talk, and being inside a car headed to an expensive restaurant means that they should be doing something. Shouldn't they?

Urie steals a side glance towards Mutsuki, who, surprisingly, isn't even looking at him. His gaze is fixed outside the windows, watching the people outside and the buildings, all blurring together. Then, he fully turns to look at him, because Mutsuki's too preoccupied to notice that he's watching him.

The sight, well, it makes him relax somewhat. If Mutsuki wasn't going to act all awkward about this then he wasn't going to be the one to do it. Instead, he leans back into the seat, extends out his hand and grips Mutsuki's hand in his.

When Mutsuki notices, he turns to look at Urie and Urie holds his gaze. Mutsuki gives a small smile, eyes flickering briefly downwards at their hands. Then, he moves his so that they're fingers are entwined and squeezes softly, moves closer to Urie and rests his head on his shoulder.

The ride was peaceful and took a little while, which didn't bother him in the slightest. At some point of the night, Mutsuki had taken to ask him personal but silly questions which Urie wasn't bothered in the slightest to answer. Mutsuki seemed to have an endless arsenal of questions in mind, because the second Urie finished answering one, another one came right away.

Would it have been another person, Urie would have simply ignored them. But Mutsuki's easy to be around with, and if he doesn't think about it hard enough, then this does feel like an actual date. A routine, one that'd they hold probably weekly or monthly if they'd be living together.

When the limousine parks outside, Urie steals a brief glance towards the windows. He can already tell, without having to inspect closely, that they're in the wealthiest part of the city. It would explain why the ride took so long.

When they step outside the limo, Urie suddenly doesn't feel like he's out of place thanks to his – Mutsuki's – expensive three piece, but at the same time feels like he's stepping on alien territory. 

The restaurant – Urie steals a brief glance at the sign on the building, _Rushima –_ is brimming with life. Even outside, there are couples and people talking, as if they have all the time in the world to just stand outside the building to chat.

Urie feels Mutsuki lay his hand on his arm, before leading the way. Urie follows silently, not commenting at all.

When they step inside it doesn't take as long as Urie though it'd take to get attended. The maître d' is a long black-haired man, probably not yet in his forties. His eyes an extremely light colour that left Urie speechless. When the man looks at them, there is nothing but well-practiced politeness in the way he smiles at them.

“Can I help you, sir?” 

Urie turns to look at Mutsuki, who smiles.

"Yes, hi." Mutsuki says softly, "there should be a reservation under the name Tooru."

The man's eyes widen ever so slightly and seemed to do a double take on who was speaking to him. Urie frowns momentarily, when he notices that the mean doesn't even take a look a the book of reservations he has in hand. Instead, he offers Mutsuki a more sincere smile before calling a waitress over.

Urie files away the last name Tooru for later. There's something about it that's ringing some bells. 

"Yes, of course." He motions at the waitress, "Akira, will be your waitress for the night. Please enjoy the night."

"Thank you." Mutsuki says, nods at the waitress and then begins to follow after her. 

Urie wants to comment on the fact that people are looking, wants to look at Mutsuki and discover that he’s also being underwhelmed by the stares. Because people are _genuinely_ turning heads, conversations faltering into almost silent whispers. There are people who are not quite looking at them but are nonetheless paying attention to the both of them.

And it’s the first time, in a long while, where Urie feels uncomfortable in a place, to the point where it almost feels suffocating. He expects to find some sort of comfort in Mutsuki, but when he does look at him – soft looking ringlets cascading down bare shoulders, fitting black dress with a single pendant resting atop his chest, one manicured hand a contrasting white to the nails, resting on his arm, softly but there – all he sees is Mutsuki relaxed and almost happy.

It doesn’t take a genius to realize that it’s because Mutsuki’s been raised in this sort of environment, of course to him it feels like slipping on an old but comfortable coat. There’s easiness to his posture, a small smile as he simply looks forward, not even looking at all of the expensiveness that simply suffocates the air in the place.

He’s probably been here, dozens of times, Urie thinks, as the maître d’hôtel ushers them to a more private dining area, away from the – now – silent front part of the restaurant. The sound of conversations slowly fading away, and with it, Urie’s fear of them, all of them thinking that he’s four years older than his date and Mutsuki’s looking young _, too_ young.

She leads them to a corner that’s extremely secluded, a heavy dark-red curtain that when drawn, will efficiently cut them off from others. The only reason as to why they end up seated here it’s because Mutsuki asked for it, said _I wish for some privacy. The attention is overwhelming_ with an exasperated face and Urie couldn’t help but snort, silent, but Mutsuki caught it nonetheless. He calls it bullshit, because if Mutsuki hadn’t wanted the attention, he could’ve easily booked the reservation under a complete different name or simply had gone to a less expensive restaurant.

He however does not comment on it. Simply sits down on one side of the table, the chair most likely costs more than his apartment, and watches as Mutsuki takes a seat opposite of him. The maître d’ leaves them both alone with a promise to return shortly and leaving the menus on the table.

Urie watches her go, until the curtain is drawn back and then all he sees is red.

Mutsuki’s looking at him. “Sorry.” He says.

“For what?”

Mutsuki leans forward on the table, head bowing slightly, his green eyes flickering from the table and then hesitantly moving upwards to meet urie's own dark eyes. A pink tongue slides out and wets his lips. "For lying."

Urie clicks his tongue, doesn't speak. Instead nods his head, a sign for Mutsuki to continue, which he does.

"I really didn't want us to meet like this," He says apologetic. "But I'm not going to apologize for spending this week with you."

Urie nods, "Neither will I."

A couple of minute later, Akira came back to take their orders. Mutsuki ordered something without having to look at the menu, which really, only confirmed to Urie that Mutsuki's been here before. He, however, skimmed the menu with the clear knowledge that this might be the last time he'll be able to eat something _that_ expensive. He ended up ordering some pasta.

Wine soon was served and he watched with a single eyebrow raised as Mutsuki brough the cup up to his lips, before stopping. A small smile tugging on his lips.

"Don't worry, I'm not planning on getting drunk."

Urie scoffs and lets a small smile on his face.

They easily fall into a smooth conversation after that. Talking about random topics. Slowly, but surely, Mutsuki's laughter comes out easily, more honest. The way his eyes twinkle with delight whenever Urie moves to grab his hand, run his fingers through his nuckles.

The dinner is good, _more_ than good actually. Mutsuki probably enjoys watching his reaction to the food maybe a bit too much, and there's this longing in his gaze that makes Urie uncomfortable, maybe. Probably.

They end up drinking a whole bottle of wine before a nice silence has fallen between the two of them, and then something that had been nagging at the back of his mind suddenly comes up front.

He watches as Mutsuki traces a finger on the ring of the cup, green eyes focused on it.

Urie debates on whether to bring it up or not. The atmosphere's been easy going, he's happy. He really doesn't want this to end. But he's also realistic, and it'll end up hurting him more. Losing Mutsuki out of nowhere like last time. 

He licks his lips. "You're leaving tomorrow." It's not a question, it's a statement.

Mutsuki flinches, guiltily. His eyes don't meet Urie's when he replies, soft. "Yes."

"So this is our last date."

At this, Mutsuki's eyes meet his. "If you want it to be."

Urie nods, "Where are you going then?"

Mutsuki sighs, leaning back into his chair. "Boarding school. I still need to finish high school."

"That's only two years right?" He asks, Mutsuki nods. "I guess it's not that bad."

Mutsuki shakes his head. "No, it is." He bites his lip then. "I wasn't excited about it, still am not. But now I really don't want to go. I want to stay, here. With you."

Urie swallows, ignores how his heart speeds up at the confession. Swallows down the words he wants to say, because it'd be good to just tell him that he also wants Mutsuki to stay. But he knows reality.

"Your parents must be worried."

"They know where I am. They're not." Mutsuki says, and when Urie frowns, he explains himself. "I... um, I've been calling them. I didn't tell them where exactly I was staying at. They're too busy attending so many events and making money that it's not really a big deal if I go 'missing' for a couple of weeks.

Urie nods, imagining Mutsuki much younger, just wondering around different parts of the world. He knows Mutsuki's gone to a lot of places before, what's with his family being extremely wealthy – and apparently a big deal, if that last name is enough to cause such reactions – and all. It makes sense now that Mutsuki would have come to him and not worry about his parents making a huge ordeal by looking for him.

"You never answered my question. That day." Urie leans forward. "Who hit you? Was it them."

Mutsuki's lips thin out. "I, Urie... I'd rather not. I–"

He clicks his tongue. "Mutsuki, don't excuse their behaviour. It's _abuse_."

"I know." Mutsuki whispers, a small tremor shaking his body. " _I know_. But they're my family. And I won't be seeing them for two years. I'll be legal by then and then I'll move out. But I _love them_ , and they just don't know any better."

Mutsuki sighs, shakily, "They won't be able to hurt me while I'm at school. They'll get over the fact that they don't have a daughter, but a son." Mutsuki licks his lips then, looks at Urie. "Please don't get involved. I know what I'm doing."

Urie grits his teeth, he wants to tell Mutsuki that just because they love him doesn't mean that they're allowed to lay a hand on him. Specially on something as stupid as his gender identity. He knows that he feels identified, because his father kicked him out of the house just because he was everything but straight, and he knows just how much it hurts.

But he had Saiko, and she was a lot of help.

Mutsuki didn't have anyone, not even him, because he'd be really far away.

Still, the look on Mutsuki's face makes him snap his mouth shut. He breathes out.

"I trust you." He says, finally.

"Thank you." Mutsuki replies.

They remain silent for a little while, trying to let the heavy air dissipate.  

"Will you wait for me?" Mutsuki asks, voice so low, Urie almost misses the question. _Almost_.

Urie thinks about Mutsuki's smile, his eyes, his hair, his laugh. It's only two years. He can wait that long. 

**Author's Note:**

> In this story Mutsuki is sixteen and Urie twenty. There are mentions of homophobia and transphobia, also mentions of child-abuse. Urie misgenders Mutsuki at the beginning but it's because he doesn't know better and Mutsuki keeps quiet about a lot of things. 
> 
> Honestly, these two don't have the most healthy relationship. 
> 
> There is also a sexual scene that does not involve penetration but boy does it happen.
> 
> All in all, I am very happy over how this story turned out. Despite the fact that I finished it a couple of hours before Sunday.  
> I wish I could have explored this AU a lot more, which was my main goal for this fic ( a lot of character development, Urie meeting Mutsuki's parents, and of course what went on after Mutsuki came back four years later) alas, I don't have the attention span for all of this.


End file.
